


Shadow Games

by Josey (cestus), junko



Series: Be My Family or Not [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: AU, Hand Jobs, Job offers, Kyouraku's sense of humour, M/M, PWP, Renji's insecurities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 01:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12025164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cestus/pseuds/Josey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: Renji only went there to complain, so how did he end up pinned against a wall by the 8th division captain? And when did Kyouraku start to smell so good?





	Shadow Games

**Author's Note:**

> Main author: Josey
> 
> This is a PwP set in an embryonic AU that [Junko](http://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko) and I are working on where Renji ends up being adopted by the Kuchiki at the same time as Rukia.

The first hint Renji gets that Kyōraku-taichō isn't the bumbling drunk he seems to be from a distance, is when he suddenly finds his back slamming against the wall and the man himself looming over him. There's one huge hand either side of Renji's head and his vision is almost entirely obscured by pink kimono and dark hair. 

"What did you say?" 

Renji swallows hard and flattens his palms against the plaster at the gust of sake-scented breath that accompanies the words. The captain's so close that the breath is still warm when it hits his cheek. 

And, damn it, this is so not what he imagined happening when he stormed into the 8th this evening, demanding apology for Rukia. Probably he'd thought he'd be stopped before he got this far, but even his wildest fantasies hadn't included Kyōraku rising like some kind of living-dead zombie-killer thing from behind the desk and slamming him against a wall.

Just past the blur of pink kimono that dominates his field of vision, Renji catches a glimpse of Ise-fukutaichō. For a brief, wonderful second, he thinks she's going to intercede, then she dips her chin and turns away. He hears the door slide closed behind her. No rescue from that quarter then.

"I asked you what you said, young man."

Now Renji has no choice but to face this alone. And he _hates_ facing things alone. That's why he and Rukia always stick together. They make a great team. 

But Rukia's not here right now. She's back at the estate, crying her heart out, like she has been for days, which is why Renji's here on her behalf.

Tightening his jaw, he lifts his eyes to meet furious grey and finally grinds out an answer to Kyōraku's question. "That it's your fault Rukia had to kill Shiba-fukutaichō." 

Renji believes it too. With all his heart. Having listened to Rukia's sobbed confession, and her subsequent nightmares, there's no mistaking what happened that night. When Ukitake went out after Shiba Kaien, he didn't have back-up, which meant Rukia was the only one there when he'd been taken ill. 

And the thing is, there's no way that should have happened, because back at the 13th, there's a rule; Shiba-fukutaichō explained it to him and Rukia when they first arrived: the captain never ever takes the field alone. He always has to have back-up. Usually, that's Shiba-fukutaichō or, if he's busy, Shiba-sanseki or the fourth seats. If none of them are available, then someone sends a runner to the 8th for Kyōraku-taichō. 

And Renji knows for a fact that a runner was sent that night, because he'd been that runner. He also knows that when he arrived at the 8th, it was Ise-fukutaichō who met him, not Kyōraku, and from what Rukia has said, he knows that the captain didn't make it out to Ukitake until long after everything was over. Because he was drunk, presumably. Because Kyōraku is always drunk. Or womanising. Or sleeping. The guy is a disgrace.

Fury strengthens Renji's resolve and he stands a little straighter. "You should have come out as soon as you got the message that Taichō was in the field."

"Is that so," Kyōraku intones. Captain-level reiatsu rises around them, a pulse like arterial blood that finds furious echo in Renji's throat. He swallows, but the pressure increases until his ears pop and black dots start to dance before his eyes. He gasps and in that moment is blindsided by the sudden scent of sake and roses overlaid by musky masculine sex.

He's always known he has a thing for guys as well as girls — living in the same house as Byakuya-niisama would have made that obvious, even if being around Ukitake-taichō hadn't — but he's never noticed Kyōraku in that way before.

Right now though, Renji can't think of anything else and for fuck's sake this is a really inappropriate time for his body to catch on.

He shifts, hoping to conceal the evidence of his growing arousal and wishes he'd bothered with fundoshi this morning. But he'd been in a hurry, so he'd skipped, and now his hakama are starting to tent in a distinctly inappropriate way.

"Hmm," Kyōraku hums and Renji glances up at him, eyes wide, hoping against hope that he's going to get away with this. But Kyōraku's staring down at exactly what Renji was just looking at and, oh crap, he is so dead. Kyōraku is going to kill him.

Except the captain doesn't shout, or throw a punch. Instead, the corner of his mouth twitches and he removes one hand from the wall so he can run a single finger up Renji's way too obvious dick, from base to tip.

The back of Renji's head thumps into said wall and his knees immediately hand in their resignation. It's only sheer desperation to avoid terminal embarrassment that stops his ass hitting the floor.

"My, my, do we have a thing for authority figures, Renji-kun?" Kyōraku queries, voice worryingly conversational. Then, before Renji can defend himself, he adds, "No, that can't be it; Juu-chan would have said something. So, what it is then? What particular circumstance has got you so hot and bothered?" 

The reiatsu around them suddenly surges, slamming Renji back into the wall again. He gasps, whole body thrumming. Grey eyes lift and for a second Renji sees past the drunken fool to the sharp mind beyond, the sharp and frankly terrifying mind beyond. 

He screws his eyes shut just as his dick twitches to life for real, smacking into Kyōraku's hand, which closes around it almost hard enough to be cruel.

"Ah, so that's how it is," Kyōraku purrs, all deep rumble like a big cat, and crap, Renji is such an idiot. What kind of shinigami gets turned on by being in danger?

"Tell me, Renji-kun," Kyōraku continues in the same tone, his grip on Renji's dick unrelenting. "Did it take a while to work yourself up to come and see me, or did you blunder in here without a plan."

If he'd had a plan, he wouldn't be here with his heart in his mouth while the captain fondled his dick. And it is a fondle. A grope even.

Renji's breath hitches as Kyōraku's grip loosens. His hips jerk just the smallest amount, which pulls hakama cloth tight. It almost hurts, in a way that shouldn't be a turn on, except apparently Renji's body is obeying a different set of rules today, ones he's never gotten a chance to read because, when Kyōraku leans in even closer and breathes, "Do you want me to punish you?" into Renji's ear, Renji cannot for the life of him stop the whimpered, "Sir," that crawls out from some shameful place deep inside him.

Kyōraku chuckles. "I see. It's a taskmaster you're after. Someone to put you through your paces." He hums another one of those hums that resonates through Renji's bones, like somehow he's a million leagues under the sea and still sinking. 

"S-Sir." And now he just wants Kyōraku to do something, anything, that isn't standing so damned close, hand wrapped around Renji's dick. He'd make a move himself except his hands seem to be glued to the wall, just like his eyes are glued shut and his mouth is full of hot breath and then tongue and fuck, Kyōraku is kissing him!

He tastes just as amazing as he smells. Sake, sweet and hot, dangerous, and there's something else there. The roses? No, not quite. Renji isn't sure why he even thought it was rose to start with. It's flowery, for sure, but there's an edge to it, something that calls out to Renji in a way he's never felt before.

Deep inside him a presence stirs and rises, pushing Renji's reiatsu out with it, and finally, finally, Renji can move his limbs. He reaches up and wraps an arm around Kyōraku's broad shoulders, pulling him closer, going up on his toes as the man deepens the kiss, his hand cradling the side of Renji's face even as he takes what he wants with satisfying thoroughness. 

By the time they break for air, Renji's panting hard and his lips are tingling with stubble burn, but all that does is make him hotter. Kyōraku's reiatsu thrums against his skin, but this time Renji's comes to meet it. And anyway, why should he let that stop him when Kyōraku is right there. There for Renji to take for himself. To touch and stroke and feel.

He's shoving at the front of Kyōraku's haori before he registers the iron-like grip around both his wrists. Scrambling together a few remaining brain cells, Renji looks up to find Kyōraku gazing down at him quizzically. 

"I'm starting to see what Juu-chan means about you," Kyōraku says and Renji gets the feeling he's about to explain when his expression suddenly hardens and his eyes narrow. He lets go of Renji and takes a step back. 

"Are you familiar with ' _The Soul King says_ ', Renji-kun?" he asks.

It's such a non-sequitur that for a second all Renji can do is stare at the man and blink. 

"It's a children's game where-" Kyōraku continues.

"I know what it is, sir," Renji interjects, his voice coming out tighter and more desperate than he thought possible. And he knows why it sounds that way too. The game is a familiar one; they used to play it as kids between stealing and starving; but right now his imagination has offered up different scenario to the one he's used to. One a lot more adult and suited to this situation.

Suddenly there's not enough air in the room and his dick's so hard it feels like it's about to explode. 

"Excellent," Kyōraku says, turning away with the kind of casual air that would be more at home at a summer picnic. "The Soul King says, take off your shirts."

Renji's fingers fly to the ties and fumble them open, the cloth stripping down his arms as he loses both garments at once to save time. He's about to toss them on the floor when he catches sight of Kyōraku, who's lost his pink kimono and is perched on his desk, broad traveller's hat dangling from one long finger. He's watching closely, which is enough to give Renji pause. 'Take off' had been the order, not 'take off and put down'. 

With a small gulp, Renji hugs the shirts to his chest, and is immediately rewarded with an approving smile. 

"Good boy," Kyōraku says warmly and Renji's dick gives another hard twitch. 

Kyōraku's brows shoot up and he lets out another one of those rumbling chuckles. It's all amusement though, there's not a scrap of scorn in his voice when he adds, "Punishment _and_ praise, eh? I think we can work with that." He pauses then, gaze ranging over Renji's body long enough for Renji's skin to break out in goosebumps. Finally he flips his hat onto his desk with a languid, "The Soul King says, let your hair down."

That's an easy one. Renji sticks his shirts between his knees and reaches up with both hands to remove his hair band. There's a long low whistle from the desk and when Renji looks over, Kyōraku's gaze is fixed on his chest — on his new ink, Renji realises, cheeks heating in a flush of self-consciousness.

He sets his jaw, ready for some disparaging comment, and continues un-plaiting his braid. The first time Byakuya-niisama had seen the tattoos, there'd been one hell of a fight. Renji had come as close as he ever has to walking out, before his adopted brother finally grasped that the markings were to do with Renji's zanpakutō and weren't some half-assed attempt to rebel against the Kuchiki. He still doesn't approve though, and takes every opportunity to say so.

But there's no judgement in Kyōraku's eyes as he follows the lines of ink, only curiosity. "Juu-chan said they were impressive," he says finally. "He wasn't wrong." His gaze rises to meet Renji's again. "I understand they're related to your zanpakutō. Have you called it out yet?"

It's an intrusive question from anyone who's not a close friend or an immediate superior, but Renji doesn't hesitate before answering, "No, sir, not yet." But its name is on the tip of his tongue and at night he wakes from dreams of a snarling hissing fiend which he kind of hopes is his zanpakutō. 

"But soon I think," Kyōraku says with narrowing eyes. "Put your shirts over there and come here."

Renji's foot is off the floor, halfway through the first step, before he remembers. He lets it hover there for a second before slowly, deliberately, lowering it back to where it was, and tosses the captain a disgruntled look while he does so.

This earns him a true belly laugh. "Well played, well played!" Kyōraku says, rising from the desk and turning with the kind of haori flare that Byakuya-niisama could only dream of. He grabs his chair, pulls it forward and sits, knees wide, palms flat on his thighs, and when he looks at Renji again, his expression has gone from indulgent uncle to predator. "So, you've proved you can obey a simple command. What's your control like?"

It's Renji's bête noire and always has been. "Not bad, sir," he manages, trying not to shiver at that dangerous look. He shouldn't be cold; even though it's October, he has reiatsu enough to keep him warm; except somehow he is cold, and hot at the same time. Feverish, some part of his mind supplies, though not from sickness. From want, maybe, if that's even possible? 

"We'll see. The Soul King says, put your shirts down and come here."

This time Renji obeys, tossing his shirts onto the visitor's chair and heading around the desk towards the spot Kyōraku's pointing to. The hungry look that follows him in doesn't escape him. Nor does the fact that the spot is within easy reach of the captain's chair.

The moment he gets within range, Kyōraku drags him in for another toe-curling kiss. Renji's palms hit the arms of the chair and his fingers latch on, nails digging into wood as his mouth is thoroughly plundered. For a guy who flirts outrageously with anything that moves, Kyōraku takes absolutely no prisoners when he kisses. There are hands too, skimming over Renji's back and ass, his sides and belly, too fast to get a fix on but leaving behind tracks of heat that fill him to overflowing. By the time Renji's released, his head is spinning, from arousal as well as lack of oxygen.

"The Soul King says, touch yourself," Kyōraku commands while Renji's still trying to scrape together enough brain cells to see straight let alone act. Kyōraku's lounging back in his chair with a shit-eating grin on his face like he's delighted with the state he's put Renji in and at this angle it's dead easy to see that he's enjoying himself as well. Renji's aren't the only hakama with a serious tenting issue.

Shakily, Renji runs his hands up his own sides, palms tracking the ghostly prints left behind by Kyōraku's touch. Sweat makes them slide easily, but also makes him shiver, his nipples peaking to hard nubs that brush against his forearms and make him shudder all the harder. 

If he was alone, he'd strip out of his hakama about now, but the order is only 'touch yourself', which means no more clothing removal. So he sticks to the rules, fingertips skimming his waistband as the other hand heads upward, the heel following the dip of his sternum. His skin is burning, even to his own touch, and weirdly sensitive, as if Kyōraku's still touching him somehow.

At that thought, Renji sways on the spot and his hair swings loose around his face. It reaches to the middle of his back these days so when it falls forward over his shoulders, it brushes across his nipples like a lover's gentle fingertips. Renji finds his eyes sliding closed and his head dropping back. His breathing is getting deeper, edging into moaning territory.

Is he even allowed to do that? The order didn't say he could speak, only touch. Does groaning count? What about whimpering?

"The Soul King says, touch yourself inside your hakama."

Kyōraku's voice is low and authoritative, and just the sound of it is enough to make Renji bite his lip so as to not make any noise himself. He fumbles at the side-opening of his hakama — it's the only way in if he can't take them off — and drags his fingers up his inner thigh. 

The heat radiating off his dick is astounding, but he deliberately avoids touching it. If he does, he just might come, he's feeling that turned on, and no way was that part of the orders. 

And whatever this game is about, Renji doesn't want to lose. 

It's the most annoying thing about him, so Rukia reckons, this desire to win at any cost. According to Byakuya-niisama, it's his most valuable feature. 

A hand suddenly scoops him forward by the thighs. "You can move if you want," Kyōraku suggests and then there's lips pressing against Renji's abs, just above his navel. 

Renji gasps and his eyes fly open. Kyōraku's half out of his chair, down on one knee, and Renji's left hand is hovering just above that mane of thick dark wavy hair. It'd be so easy to wind his fingers into it and push that hot mouth down some, get it on his dick, especially when Kyōraku starts to lick and then suck. But he can't. He's not allowed to move. That wasn't a Soul King says order.

But the idea of it, of a captain on his knees for Renji, sucking him off. Oh shit! 

Hips jerk minutely and in desperation Renji grips his own balls, giving them a hard squeeze, a 'don't be dumb, play numb,' warning. The ache takes the edge off, helps him breathe easier, and he's just letting them go again when the other side of his hakama pulls tight and suddenly there's a hand on his dick. 

His almost yell strangles back into a gulp and he has to shove his hand into his mouth to avoid grabbing Kyōraku's hair. He bites down hard enough to bring tears to his eyes as the fingers of his other hand desperately twist the cloth of his hakama. 

The grip on his dick tightens then moves, a slow slide from base to tip. Renji tries to breathe, chokes on his tongue and then there's a ripping sound, and suddenly it's a lot breezier down below than it was before.

Both the hand on his dick and the lips against his belly vanish as Kyōraku leans back slightly. That doesn't help Renji the least little bit because now when he looks down all he can see is Kyōraku's mouth inches from his now naked groin. The pulse of arousal that shoots through him at the sight makes his dick twitch so hard it makes a slapping sound against his belly.

Kyōraku peers up at him curiously. His hair is coming loose, falling over his face and his lips are red and wet. For a brief unreal moment Renji's imagination hijacks his mouth and the words are spilling out before he can stop them. "If I win, will you blow me?"

At that Kyōraku actually sits up, levelling a look at Renji that's more amusedly tolerant than cross. "I was going to offer you my fourth seat position, but if you'd rather…"

He goes to lean back in again, but Renji squeaks, "Wait, what?" And sticks a hand out to stop him.

Kyōraku's gaze drops to the hand and then rises back to Renji's face. Renji snatches his hand back, but it's too late. He moved without the Soul King's permission. The game is forfeit.

There's a huge sigh from Kyōraku, and he sprawls back into his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. He covers his eyes with his hand, lips moving silently and, stupid as it sounds, Renji gets the impression that he's talking to someone — arguing with them? 

Tugging the remains of his hakama across his still stalwart prick, Renji can only stand and watch, wondering what comes next. If he didn't win the game, then he lost. Has he only lost a prize or does he now have to pay a forfeit?

That possibility is worrying. "Sir," Renji begins with no real idea where he's going, except maybe to apologise somehow.

Kyōraku angles his hand out in an obvious gesture to wait. Renji subsides, watching quietly until Kyōraku sighs again gustily, blinks and looks up.

There are shadows behind his eyes. He looks… haunted. "Renji-kun," he says, and Renji just knows that he's going to be dismissed and that'll be it, he'll never get another chance to get close to this man, this captain, this source of power that some part of Renji desperately wants to emulate, or surpass, or maybe bring down. He isn't entirely sure which yet. 

"Please, sir," he says before Kyōraku can continue. "Can't we just… carry on? I mean, I lost the game, I know that, but… we were having fun anyway, yeah?"

Kyōraku stares at him, the seconds ticking past like the measured beat of a war drum. And then his expression crumples into a smile and he laughs, long and hard and loud. Thigh-slapping, tear-squeezing guffaws. 

Renji has no idea what he said that set this off, but he likes it. Plus, the mood is kind of catching. He finds his own face stretching into a grin, embarrassment at his mistakes forgotten, as Kyōraku rocks in his chair. 

Finally the laughter winds down, Kyōraku wipes his face with both hands and looks up at Renji again. The shadows are still there, but lessened, and there's a crinkle around sparkling grey eyes that speak of a much younger man. 

"You know something, I think you're right. We were having fun," Kyōraku says, rising from his chair in a cloud of sake and sex scented air. 

Renji breathes it in hungrily; definitely something he could get used to, he decides; and deliberately doesn't take a step back. That puts Kyōraku close enough to lean into without any risk of falling, so that's exactly what Renji does, leans forward, goes up on his toes, and presses a kiss to stubble-edged lips.

Strong hands immediately clasp his upper arms and pull him in closer, deepening the kiss. Renji scrabbles for a hold and snags fingers into cloth, using it to steady himself as one of those clasping hands rises to cradle the back of his head. 

At an enquiring suggestion of tongue, Renji opens his mouth and is rewarded with a low satisfied hum. His tongue slides alongside Kyōraku's, flirting and touching, exploring each other's mouths, and his dick, never one to give up hope easily, surges to fullness again.

He groans, hips shifting restlessly. Kyōraku reacts immediately, turning them both, and Renji feels the hard edge of the desk against the back of his thighs. Fucked over the captain's desk? He can do that.

He wriggles back, tugging Kyōraku along with him and finds himself being lowered until his back hits the desk. Only then does Kyōraku release him, pulling away slightly to look down the length of their bodies. Renji follows his look and sees his own dick peering out from folds of cloth. It looks a bit odd, intrusive, and for a moment embarrassment threatens to overwhelm desire. Then Kyōraku reaches down, flips haori aside, and takes Renji in hand.

Renji shudders, head dropping back again and breath hitching as hold becomes slide becomes thumb across the tip and back again to that slow working stroke. Crap, it feels so good. 

Renji reaches up, intending to capture Kyōraku for another kiss and misses, hand flopping back above his head. He grips the edge of the desk instead, using it as an anchor to hold himself steady, then, for a long moment, he just lets himself wallow, riding pleasure as it breaks through his body, temperature climbing as arousal pools in his loins. He could come from this, just a hand and nothing more, but he's greedy, he wants the extras.

His other hand helps, tracing a path across his belly and chest, finding lingering spots of heat. It's a tease, self-inflicted but none the less effective. His ears feel blocked, the world a million miles away when Kyōraku says suddenly, low and intimate, "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look, laid out like this?" 

Renji blinks up at him, thoughts scattered. He manages to shake his head. "Not beautiful," he says, the words creeping out from the back of his mind. "Just a stray dog in an expensive collar."

Something shifts across Kyōraku's face and then he plunges down to take another kiss, this one insistent, driving. Renji rises to meet him, unwilling to submit entirely and feels the rightness of that ring true through his soul. 

He grabs the back of Kyōraku's haori and drags him close, humping up against him, feeling an answering hardness beneath layers of cloth.

"Damn it," Kyōraku snarls, coming up for air a moment later, and then echoing Renji's own thoughts, adds, "Let me lose this lot."

Renji lets him go and watches in something like awe as Kyōraku strips with ruthless efficiency and incredible speed. He seems smaller without his clothes, though no less impressive as he crawls back over Renji again. 

His shoulders are covered in a fine pelt of dark hair that thickens onto his chest. Renji runs fingers through it, fascinated, finding a nipple almost by accident. At the touch, Kyōraku's breath hitches but his fingers close around Renji's, pulling his hand away and kissing it gently. Renji blinks up at him in disappointment. He'd thought the game was over. Is he still not allowed to touch? 

"Hakama," Kyōraku says, nodding down at what's left of the pants Renji had forgotten he was wearing. Right, they do need to go. 

Releasing the edge of the desk, Renji fumbles at the ties with clumsy fingers, only to have them brushed aside by far more expert ones. A few tugs, and one judicious use of teeth, and the remains of the hakama are dropping to the floor. 

Legs now free, Renji pulls his heels up onto the desk, raising his knees and sliding his ass forward. And there, finally, he gets some of what he wants: his body pressing against Kyōraku's, their dicks sliding together, that feeling of mutual heat even as the grind of skin and hair verges on discomfort.

"Hang on," Kyōraku gasps, as Renji slings an arm around his neck and drags him back down for a kiss. 

"Done waiting," Renji mutters against his lips. "Need you to fuck me."

There's a frustrated mumble in his ear that resolves into, "Can't. Don't have anything in the office." 

No lube? Renji growls in annoyance, head thumping back onto the desk. "Why not?" he demands, though it's more petulant than genuine since this is an office not a bedroom. He probably should have been more surprised if there was.

"Funny story, actually," Kyōraku says a bit breathlessly as Renji grinds up into him again. "Nanao-chan might just have confiscated everything after she walked in on me once."

Renji's imagination kicks out an, "Alone?" before he can stop it, because there's only a door between them and he isn't sure he could survive that kind of interruption.

"With my thoughts," Kyōraku replies, then steals Renji's response right out of his mouth with another kiss. 

Renji joins in enthusiastically, a shot of heat crawling up his spine as Kyōraku pins him to the desk and thrusts against him, but his mind is churning over the problem. If they can't fuck, they'll have to find another solution, because no way is he leaving here without coming.

Kyōraku solves the dilemma a moment later by sticking a hand between them and gathering their dicks together. The squeeze and jostle of it makes Renji's toes curl, and he whimpers, thrusting up into a tight calloused grip.

Kyōraku's hand slams onto the desk beside Renji's head and Renji has about half a heartbeat to wonder why before Kyōraku's lips and teeth are on his neck, teasing out new layers of sensation to torture Renji's already over-aroused body.

"Fuck," Renji gasps at the ceiling, his nails curling into Kyōraku's back. 

"Almost as good," Kyōraku replies, picking up the pace. It feels incredible and is only getting better as they both start to sweat more and the slick makes everything slide oh so good.

Then Renji slips across the desk, taking him out of reach and making Kyōraku miss his stroke. The lack feels as shocking as a slap to the face and Renji cries out, hands scrabbling over skin, desperate for a fix. He's dragged closer again, but its no good. Sweat has made the wood too slippery and-

"Here." 

He's grabbed and manhandled off the desk and into the chair, into Kyōraku's lap. Renji's knees end up jammed in beside Kyōraku's hips and how this is supposed to work, Renji doesn't know, and then doesn't care because, with a wriggle, Kyōraku's hand is back round both their dicks. And now Renji can help out too. One palm braced against the back of the chair frees up the other to join Kyōraku in an interlacing of fingers that encloses them both entirely. Renji fucks into them, head bowed, breath hot and sawing in his throat. He's close to coming. He can feel it, the driving urge to just thrust. That edge of passion. 

Kyōraku's no better. His grunts are belly deep, his chest heaving against Renji's. Their breaths mingle and then they're kissing, tongues thrusting, a mirror of their bodies as tension winds higher. 

Reiatsu rises with them. There's a knack to controlling it but right now Renji can't remember how. Doesn't care to remember. He just wants to fuck. The walls rattle. Kyōraku's reiatsu it there too, rising like Renji's, but higher, like a tsunami, a wall of power infinitely deep.

Renji cries out, his orgasm slamming through him as the world crests, swallowing him whole, a helpless bobbing cork. For a breathless eternity, he can't breathe, can't think, consciousness no more than surging pleasure, heat and need. There's a voice in his ear, a bass cry of passion and then heat spilling over his fingers, over his dick. 

He shudders through another wave as awareness slowly creeps back. One hand cramps on the back of the chair, the other is covered in cum, and his knees are really going to hate him later, but right now Renji doesn't care. Kyōraku is reaching for him, pulling him down into a shaky wobbly kiss. 

Renji returns it, and they slump against each other for long enough for hearts to slow and sweat to start to cool. Finally a contented sigh turns into a pained groan and Kyōraku shifts, obviously trying to ease some of Renji's weight off his lap. Renji chuckles and obliges, sitting back some, and loops the cleaner of his two hands around the captain's neck. They're both sweaty and disgusting, but that's no excuse not to enjoy the moment. Renji's never been a one to fuck and run.

Kyōraku looks back at him with a happy, sated expression. "You know, that really wasn't what I had in mind when I pinned you against that wall," Kyōraku says after a moment. "Though I have to admit, the result was very satisfactory."

"Me neither," Renji replies, gaze cutting away briefly. Most of him wants nothing to do with any of that conversation but since Kyōraku brought it up: "And I was out of line, barging in like that, throwing accusations around. I'm sorry."

Some of the shadows return to Kyōraku's eyes and he slaps Renji's thighs gently in an obvious sign that he wants him to move. Renji slides to his feet and has to grip the desk hurriedly to make sure he stays on them. He can stand but he'd much rather be snuggling right about now.

"You weren't wrong," Kyōraku says, leaning down to snag a tangle of black and white cloth. Holding it up, he peers at it for a moment before peeling the two shirts apart. "It was my fault little Rukia-chan was left to dispose of Kaien alone." He wipes his hands and belly on the white one before tossing it to Renji. "Though in my defence, I did leave the moment Nanao-chan was able to pass on the message."

 _Had he been drunk?_ For some reason Renji doesn't think so, but he isn't about to ask. Instead he uses the shirt to wipe himself off and picks up his hakama. Or what's left of them, anyway.

The ties are snapped and the front panel is only attached to the legs by a couple of centimetres of cloth, which is going to make the trip home both an exciting and breezy experience. Not to mention the reactions of the gate guards at the Kuchiki estate. They already think he's trash, and this isn't going to help. 

He's sighing before he can stop himself. Kyōraku pauses in the process of reassembling his own dress and looks over, eyebrows rising when he spots the hakama. "My, my," he says, "They came out a little worse for wear. Do you want to borrow another pair?"

Renji glances round the small office. Apart from the desk and chairs, it's pretty sparse. There's a couple of nice pieces of artwork on the walls and a document cabinet in the corner, but no sign of a clothes chest. Still, it beats the alternative. "Erm, please?"

"I'll get Nanao-chan to find you some," Kyōraku says, heading for the door. His hair's everywhere, there's a purple bruise on his neck, and the only thing he's wearing under his haori are hakama. Even if Renji wasn't standing half-naked behind him, it'd be pretty obvious what they'd been up to.

"Wait!" Renji yelps just before he reaches the door.

Kyōraku stops and looks back at him, eyebrows raised. Something of what Renji's feeling must show on his face because he chuckles, shaking his head. "You don't have to worry, Renji-kun. My Nanao-chan is very discrete."

Having seen her and Matsumoto-fukutaichō together around Seireitei, Renji isn't so sure about that. But he's going to have to leave sometime, and Ise already knows he's here, so he supposes his reputation is already as good as ruined. 

"I guess," he says, but still retreats behind the desk, taking his shirts with him. By the time Kyōraku returns, he's got both on and is working on doing them up.

"She won't be long," Kyōraku announces, coming round the desk himself and giving Renji a lingering up and down look. "Though it'll be sad to have all that covered up again." He bends down, opens the bottom desk drawer and pulls out a jug of sake and two bowls, which he holds up invitingly. "Drink while you're waiting?"

"Er," Renji says, because accidental sex is one thing, but drinking with a senior officer is likely to get him in all sorts of trouble.

"Oh, come on," Kyōraku says, placing the bowls on the desk and pouring a measure into one of them, which he nudges in Renji's direction. "Don't make an old man pour for himself."

Well, if it's a matter of manners. Renji reaches for the jug, returns the favour with a swish of sake in the other bowl, then picks up his own, taking a sniff then a sip of the drink. It's sweet, fruity and surprisingly cheap tasting; all the quality stuff served at the Kuchiki manor must have spoilt his palate. The burn's good as it goes down though.

Renji takes another, larger gulp and perches on the edge of the desk, making sure to tug his shirts down over his butt before he does. Though, since they pretty much had sex on it, that's probably redundant. In retrospect it's a good job there was no paperwork on it.

He says as much to Kyōraku, who kind of freezes in place and looks very shifty all of a sudden. 

"What?" Renji asks, because he knows that look. It's the one Rukia gets when he catches her sneaking back in from watching Shiba-fukutaichō training.

Used to get.

Fuck. Renji's heart sinks. Having a crush is bad enough without having to stick the guy with a sword when he tries to eat you. Poor Rukia.

"This," Kyōraku begins with a wave at the room, "might possibly not be my office."

Not his office? Renji stares at him, open-mouthed. "Then who's-"

"You'd better be decent, because I'm coming in." Ise's voice precedes her entry into the room by milliseconds.

Renji leaps to his feet, tugging at his shirts in mute panic. Kyōraku though simply lounges a little more obviously in his chair and, swear to the gods, bats his eyelashes at his lieutenant.

"I was just telling Renji-kun that this was your office, Nanao-chan," he says, like he hadn't just had sex on her desk, in her chair! Shit!

"Was my office," she replies tartly, managing to thrust a neatly folded pair of hakama in Renji's direction without ever actually looking at him. "Since you seem to like it so much, you can have it. And the furniture." She shoves her glasses up her nose, dips a bow that just passes as polite and stalks out again.

The door slides shut with the kind of solid thump that bodes well for neither of them in the future and Renji swallows nervously. 

Kyōraku, on the other hand, simply chuckles, "My, my, she's so grown up these days."

Renji's having a hard time imagining her as anything but strict, school-ma'am Ise-fukutaichō. "You've known her a long time, sir?"

"Hm?" Kyōraku blinks his gaze away from the door and onto Renji. "Since she was knee-high," he says, then smiles a little sadly. "Though on some levels, very much longer."

What that's supposed to mean, Renji doesn't know. He busies himself getting dressed again, aware of Kyōraku watching but not minding the audience. At least the captain isn't throwing him out like a used rag. Renji's had more than a few of those kinds of encounters before.

Though not so many lately. Having 'Kuchiki' tagged on to your name does amazing things to people's levels of respect. At least to your face, anyway. To your back, not so much.

"I meant what I said about offering you a position," Kyōraku says suddenly as Renji's wrestling with his hakama. 

Renji almost swallows his ties in his hurry to answer. "Really?" 

"Not the fourth seat obviously, you've a way to go before you reach that level, but I have an opening for a twelfth seat if you're interested."

Interested? Frankly, Renji would kill for the chance. Much as he loves being with Rukia, the 13th isn't for him. He feels like he's being throttled there. 

It's not even Ukitake-taichō's fault. Not really. He's stupid protective about Rukia, which Renji suspects is Byakuya-niisama doing somehow, and it bleeds over into his treatment of Renji, but that's okay. He could live with that, if it wasn't for everyone else. And it's only going to get worse now the Shiba are gone. At least Kaien-fukutaichō treated Renji like an ordinary soldier.

There's only one sticking point really. "What about Rukia, sir, would she-?"

Kyōraku interrupts with a wave of his hand. "This is only for you. Juu-chan will see to Rukia, give her a chance to finally shine. Though he might have to see off that adopted brother of yours before he squashes all of the potential out of her."

Hah! Renji knew Byakuya was behind Ukitake's fussing.

"And anyway, you won't be away from her all the time. I would recommend you live-in here at the 8th for conveniences sake, but you'll be more than welcome to return home on your days off, and the 8th and 13th often train together." 

It sounds perfect. Renji dips a bow. "Then I would be very interested, sir, thank you." It's only when he's bent over that it occurs to him that he's just accepted a transfer from a man he's just had sex with. Was that the reason for the offer? "Erm…" he says, standing back up. "Twelfth seat does all the usual shinigami kind of duties, right?"

Kyōraku's mouth hitches up into an amused smile. "I'm not taking you on as some kind of pet, if that's what you're getting at," he says. "In fact, coming here might help you slip that expensive collar you're so worried about wearing."

Heat rushes to Renji's face. He hadn't meant to blurt that out. "It's not that I'm not grateful to Byakuya-niisama-" he begins.

"But you want to be your own man." Kyōraku heaves to his feet, reminding Renji yet again just how big he is. Maybe Renji can catch up in height as well as power if he works hard enough. "I understand entirely, Renji-kun. I was much the same with Yama-jii. Having a mentor is definitely something to be treasured, but the time comes when you need to stand on your own two feet."

As he talks, Kyōraku guides Renji towards the exit. Obviously their little encounter is over. When they reach the door, he opens it, sees Renji out, then pauses, one hand on the wood. "Just one thing," he says. "Your tattoos."

Renji's hand flies to his chest in self-conscious panic. "They're not really tattoos, sir," he blurts. He'd thought Kyōraku understood that. "They're-" 

"For your zanpakutō, I know. It's just" — he licks his lips — "be careful." Kyōraku's gaze cuts past Renji, like he can't quite bring himself to engage over this. He seems, preoccupied, inward looking as he pauses deep in thought. 

Finally, just as Renji's getting uncomfortable with the lingering silence, grey eyes, once again full of shadows, return to meet his and Kyōraku shakes his head, "You have to understand that some zanpakutō demand much in return for the power they offer."

Renji opens his mouth to speak, because he knows about this. It was in one of the few classes he took in Academy before Byakuya-niisama pulled him and Rukia out.

Kyōraku holds up a silencing hand and continues more briskly, "Which you know, I am sure. All I ask, Renji-kun, is that you think long and hard before you agree to everything. Remember, it's not always going to be you who pays the price."

With those baffling words, he nods goodbye and closes the door. Renji bows anyway, adding a grateful, "Thank you, sir," because even if he didn't understand that bit, he's still been offered a seat with the 8th. 

Renji stares at the closed door for a second, then grins, shoves his feet back into his waraji and hurries off down the corridor. 

He has to do some thinking alright, but not about zanpakutō. Somehow he's got to break it to Rukia that he's leaving. She's going to kick him so freaking hard.

_fine_


End file.
